


Of Hellgates and questionable alcohol choices

by ukenceto



Category: Bayonetta (Video Games), Darksiders (Video Games), Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukenceto/pseuds/ukenceto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death: WEIGHT DOESN'T COME INTO IT. MY STEED HAS CARRIED ARMIES. MY STEED HAS CARRIED CITIES. YEA, HE HATH CARRIED ALL THINGS IN THEIR DUE TIME. BUT HE'S NOT GOING TO CARRY YOU THREE.<br/>War: Why not?<br/>Death: IT'S A MATTER OF THE LOOK OF THE THING.<br/>War: It's going to look pretty good, then, isn't it, the One Horseman and Three Pedestrians of the Apocalypse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Hellgates and questionable alcohol choices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cryptmaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptmaw/gifts).



> The summary quote is from sir Terry Pratchett's Discworld book- "Sourcery". I just had the idea, of taking the quote in the context of Darksiders.  
> Short, humor fic :D  
> The mentioned place, "The Gates of Hell" and Rodin, as some of you might know are from Bayonetta, because this fic was already a mess of crossovers :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky was dark. Well, it wasn’t fully dark- there were some things, that could’ve been stars, but at a closer look, they could’ve been something else too; so no one was taking a closer look, just in case it turns out that they are indeed not stars.

  
War wasn’t looking at the sky and the maybe-not-quite-stars. He was laying face first onto a granite table covered in various empty glasses and bottles that seem to have held unknown substances.

Lifting his head with a groan, he looked around “The Gates of Hell”- the name of the joint, a rather uncanny one - it was hard to find, and its clientele mostly consisted of creatures that would definitely not call themselves human. He could see Fury curled up and sleeping on a couple of chairs next to the bar, clutching to her infamous leash- and several other rather curious items. One seemed to be Strife’s mask; bunch of clothes, poker chips and – War looked down briefly at himself – yes, War’s own mechanical left arm was currently detached from his body and onto the pile of items next to Fury.

As he got up with a slight groan, wondering ‘what the fuck was in that last bottle, with the purple bubbly goo?’; he turned around, noticing the unusual cold that could be felt in a place, normally living up to its inferno name’s nature. The entire back wall with no small part of the ceiling was gone. Totally gone, left only some crumbled stone and boards around. And the thing still stuck in next to the pile was definitely Chaoseater.

“Oh, shit. Rodin’s gonn’ be pissed.” Rodin was the demon owning The Gates of Hell, and while War was a Nephilim, he still knew Rodin could mess him up rather nicely if he was up to the task.

  
Still lacking almost any recollection of the events leading to the state of things at the bar, War continued trying to locate the rest of his siblings- as he looked at Fury again, he noticed Death sitting nearby; and by the look of things, he was still drinking. Noisily moving forward, War sat on a chair next to him.

  
“Soo… I guess that was one good birthday party, right?”

  
At least he remembered the reason they had gathered at the place. The four horsemen of the Apocalypse gathering up anywhere usually led to quite the mess with heavy damage involved, and some divine punishment and all that, but for once they had another reason to gather- the vague memory they all came to exist around that date, quite long ago. It had actually been Fury’s idea, that they should celebrate somehow- she said after all that stabbing and hand cutting business and retribution or what was it, they should all get thoroughly hammered in the nicest of family manners. She had already convinced Strife, and much to War’s surprise, the usually stoic Death was going to join too. So, in order to also avoid Fury’s well, fury, War had agreed to grace them with his presence on the event as well.

  
He remembered them all getting some drinks, and at one point someone mentioned strip poker… His head was a mush after that moment, and maybe it was because of mixing the bubbly pink drink with that other green drink with the floating fairy in it… Strife was always one for the sickest cocktails, and War wasn’t going to deny him the pleasure of indulging in the making of them for the four Horsemen.

Death just quietly downed another shot. His mask was nowhere in sight, black bangs falling in front of his face. Damn. War casually hid his right arm behind his back. He had no idea who was responsible, but knowing himself… Yet he was still in one piece so he decided to go for it, catch the devil by the horns so to speak.

  
“I think that look suits you, shows up your eyes more. Always told you the whole ‘Grimm Reaper’ face wasn’t fit for casual environment, only for the crushing your enemies type of parties.”

  
Death just cast an amused glance in his direction.

  
“Same would go for that arm of yours, I’d always thought you were overdoing the size thing there.”

  
War just narrowed his eyes. Things were getting edgy. What was Death implying anyways. It was oblivious to anyone that War was the biggest one of the Horsemen, in all aspects.

  
Shifting down a gear, he questioningly looked around once more.

  
“Where is Strife?”

  
Small grin stretched Death’s lips. Raising an eyebrow at his brother’s direction, he just looked up for a moment. Following his glance, War noticed the still whole part of the ceiling, and onto it, strapped with copious amounts of duct tape, was one drunk, passed out and very definitely naked Strife.

  
War barked out a laugh.

  
“Brother, we can’t keep doing that to him at every party, even if we have one only once in 100 years. Just because he’s the youngest one… Oh shit, whatever its fun when he wakes up every time.” At that, War took Harvester that was leaned onto the bar next to Death, and carefully, using the blunt side, nudged their unfortunate little brother with it until he awoke.

  
“Asjbd … What…Fuck ooofff…” Strife was never one to wake up easy. At one point though, he noticed gravity was doing strange things to him. Shaking around he realized the position he was in. “Guuuyss.. Cmooon.. Don’t do that!”

Duct tape was duct tape, but even it had its limits when facing the weight of a moving Nephilim. With audible peculiar noise it ripped off the ceiling, leading to the still half-drunk Strife crashing on the floor with a dull ‘oomph’. War was already having a laughing fit, while Death casually drank the last contents of the only bottle that didn’t break at Strife’s fall.

Fury’s shadow fell over them, the usually graceful and fierce lady’s hair currently sticking in all directions. War could swear he saw an Ace of Spades card in between her locks. She dropped Strife’s clothes and mask next to him, and handed War his mechanical arm back. Taking a cherry from one of the empty shot glasses next to Death, she looked around the wrecked place calmly. There was still music blasting from the jukebox, some rather appropriate track mentioning someone being on a highway to hell.

  
“Boys… I suggest we take out leave as fast as we can, before Rodin comes back. He went on a quick trip to hell to grab some really glam armor he promised to make me after he lost the last bet in the card game, but I guess we can have that deal at another time.”

  
“Your parties really go places, don’t they Fury.” Death’s voice still had that humorous undertone to it, which got on War’s nerves, because he was sure there was some sort of a sweet revenge the oldest Horseman was plotting against them, for doing who knows what to his precious skull mask.

  
“Well well brother dear, you’re not the biggest party animal here though.” War was sure of himself as usually. Fury could throw a party, but War was the one rocking it.

  
“From what I recall, I drank you under the table several hours ago. You were never the one to hold your liquor, War.” Death was still so smug. War couldn’t take it anymore so he just grabbed Chaoseater from the wall and went for the door, pardon, the exit, as now the door was gone with the whole wall it used to be in. Faint memory of him and Death throwing punches and throwing each other around made him smirk. He got thrown through the wall, but then he threw Death out of the ceiling, so they were even.

  
“How about we have a race then brothers, and sister dear?” They were all wearing significantly less armor, so for once that would’ve been a fair race, giving their steeds almost equal weight to carry.

  
As the 4 Horsemen went outside though, only Despair was visible, shaking his green ghostly mane at the sight of his master, Death.

  
Fury and War were unsuccessfully trying to call their missing horses. Strife was slowly moving bit further from them.

  
“What is this brother? Where is Ruin?” War was sure that has to be his brother’s revenge. But where would he take their steeds?

  
“I’d suggest you ask Strife about that.” Grinning, Death looked at War’s confused face.

  
“Strife? Do you know where are our mighty steeds?” Fury was the one asking.

  
“They were here last night… I’m pretty sure about that, yep.”

  
Death just shook his head.

  
“Let me make this clear for all of you. Last night, after Fury totally wiped the floor with most of us in the card game, Strife suggested we go for strip poker, as he was all out of things to bet against our lucky sis.

  
With lot more drinks involved, he lost all his clothes, mask, weapon and all other possessions to her. So at one point he decided it would be great idea to flee outside, stark naked. And to try and mount… your horses. The poor beings of course, escaped this lowest of assaults; Despair probably let them back to our home, and unless we go there with all alcohol out of our blood streams, I doubt they’ll come back on their own. So, that’s how thing are.” Fury and War were glaring at Strife, who was turning more and more red in the face; then he just put his mask on.

  
“Brother. We’re not walking to out realm’s stronghold. Despair is strong enough to take us all back.” War was tapping his foot to the ground in annoyance.

  
“Weight doesn’t come into it. My steed has carried armies. My steed has carried cities. Yea, hehad carried all things in their due time. But he’s not going to carry you three.” Death was already on Despair, looking at the other three Horsemen in amusement.

  
“Why not?” War couldn’t believe this. His brother was indeed planning on letting them walk back home.

  
“It’s a matter of the look of the thing.” Death’s tone was serious.

  
“It's going to look pretty good, then, isn't it, the One Horseman and Three Pedestrians of the Apocalypse?” War was pretty close to doing that stupid thing with Chaoseater again, the whole stabbing deal. He looked at Fury for support. She just lifted her shoulders.

  
“I can hitch another ride with no problem boys. Take care” She then disappeared. The Gates of Hell were in a tiny, ‘pocket’ realm close to the equivalent of the demonic highway- there were always powerful beings rollin’ around, going somewhere.

  
Death took the opportunity and also rode away on Despair, while War was still contemplating whether driving Chaoseather through him was the best option.

  
“Guess we’re on our own now.” Strife’s voice was echoing slightly from his metal mask. Sighing, War just started walking.

  
“I’m going to kill you all when we get back home…”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, pls leave a comment!


End file.
